


Kingdom Come

by NeverwinterThistle



Series: Kingdom Come [1]
Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Epilogue, Full Game Spoilers, Happy Ending, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first gift he gives is a kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehussy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehussy/gifts).
  * Translation into English available: [天国降临](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350201) by [yezixx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yezixx/pseuds/yezixx)



The first gift he gives is a kingdom; tossed between his hands like a ball that would bounce if dropped.

"I've given you Kyrat," he calls from his helicopter. _Catch!_ Ajay hears, and reaches out to him.

"Hey, wait up! Don't just leave me like this, I don't know what I'm doing! It's fucking irresponsible!"

"Isn't it just," Pagan agrees, but he shouts an order over his shoulder and the spinning blades slow, descend, make land in a cloud of dust and dried dead leaves. The sun is bright, reflecting off metal and burning an image into Ajay's eyes: Pagan, stepping down onto the grass, hands spread. _If you insist_ , is what he doesn't say. _Only for you_. The wind rises; behind him, red and gold leaves rustle, catch the light and glow.

"You really don't need me," Pagan says. He turns, gestures at the mountains, the trees and the wall of tarnished prayer wheels. "I told you before; this country brings out the worst in people. It's why your mother took you away, did you know that? There's a sickness here. Think of it like syphilis; I know I do. It rots away the important bits, the bits you _really need_ to feel like yourself, until all that's left is a maddened shell of what you used to be. Take it from me. If you weren't quite so exceptional it would have started on you already. But it looks like Ishwari knew what she was doing."

"That's not really helpful," Ajay protests. "Maybe she knew, but she sure as hell never told _me_. I've been flying blind ever since I arrived." He thinks back to the wingsuit, to soaring his way down the Himalayas with nothing but a prayer and the sun to navigate by. "Sometimes literally."

"Oh, you managed alright in the end. Far better than I'd have expected, though I'll admit I'm still a little sore about that gold statue. I mean, really? Was that necessary?"

"It was probably the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Ajay says honestly, and Pagan gives a sharp bark of laughter.

"It might have been a little ostentatious, I'll grant you. A relic from my younger days. You know how it is."

"Not really."

"No?" Pagan favours him with a thoughtful look, at once perceptive and uncertain. "Well, I suppose if you're going to insist I stick around a bit longer... Come back inside, boy, it's fucking freezing out here. Are those jeans thick enough? You're just lucky to have avoided a frostbitten scrotum; I wish I was kidding about that, but I'm very much not. Yuma _insisted_ on sending me pictures. Well, come in, come in. Let's have some tea and chat about the future."

*

Pagan's second gift is his past. It comes in stages, in drops and trickles, like water from a crumbling dam.

"I killed my father, of course," he says easily. Cup of tea in one hand and a dart in the other; he aims over Ajay's shoulder and tosses it with practiced aggression. Ajay doesn't duck. Doesn't turn either. From the angle of the throw, he suspects it might have been the Amita board that got hit this time.

Dart boards covered in blown up pictures of Pagan's enemies. Sometimes the man is so cliche he actually makes it feel original.

"Yeah? How come?"

"Oh, the traditional reasons, if you believe some of the stories those terrorists have spread in my time here. I was jealous of his power, jealous of his wealth, jealous of his dick size... Neglect, madness, Oedipus Complex, take your pick. I've heard them all. And more besides; you'd think the Golden Path had better things to do with their time than slander my origins, but I suppose they were pretty useless until you came along. Up shit creek without a paddle, as it were."

Pagan selects another dart from the stained wood coffee table between them. Takes aim; throws. Looks like Sabal took the damage this time.

"In actual fact, I suppose it was mostly frustration," he muses. "There he was, with all this... _opportunity_ at his fingertips, if he'd just embrace a new way of thinking. But no, the old man was trapped in the past. Actually happy with his little role in the underworld hierarchy, I mean it was just so fucking _stale_."

"You...really don't know how to deal with being bored, do you?"

"Why would anyone tolerate boredom when rocket launchers and Mario Kart are things that exist?"

"You're amazing," Ajay says. Laughs, reaching for the kettle to refill both their cups. He's not sure when he developed this weird addiction to Kyrat's leafy green tea; it's served with every meal, and he didn't even like the stuff when he first tried it. But hey; people did tell him that travel would broaden his horizons. "And I don't know if I mean that as a compliment or...not."

"I wonder that myself, occasionally," Pagan agrees. "Depending on my mood, and how coked up I happen to be at the time."

"So, all the time then."

They salute each other, tapping their cups together with a soft _clink._ Pagan sinks back into the plush luxury of his armchair, fingers drumming absently on his knee. "If I'm giving you the tale of my upbringing though," he says, and _tap, tap, tap_ go his fingers. "We'll have to go back a bit. I've missed out several important players, chiefly my mother and Yuma. Both of whom would berate me _severely_ for overlooking their contributions. Look, are you sure you want to hear this? It's bloody depressing, and I can guarantee none of it ends happily. You have the proof of it right here."

Ajay tucks his legs under his chin, curls up in his armchair the way he knows Pagan loves to tell him off for. _Undignified_ and _childish_ and _utterly fucking disrespectful of that chair, do you have any idea how old it is?_ He'd be so much more believable if he actually looked like he meant it.

"Yeah," he says, sipping his tea. "Yeah, I want to hear all of it."

Pagan shakes his head, his smile warm. Fond. "Well, it's your funeral I suppose. Alright then. God, you know, now I have no idea where to start."

*

The third gift is a chance. It comes in the form of an invitation to Pagan's newly re-liberated Rajgad Gulag fortress, of a tour inside what he calls his War Room.

"Absolutely no fighting in here," Pagan says, with a smirk that fades at the blank look Ajay gives him. "Never mind. Christ, boy, you'd think I was referencing something from the Dark Ages. Bloody educate yourself, won't you? We have Wi-Fi, you're welcome to use it for more than looking up unusual pornography."

"Hey now. Don't assume I share your porn habits just because I'm leeching off your internet connection."

On the table is a list of place names, and next to it a map. Farms, looks like. Fields and hillsides, spread across Kyrat apparently at random; Ajay spots the name _Kyra Tea Factory_ with a big red line through it, and takes a guess. "Poppy fields?"

"Well, aren't you clever. A few of them are more _ex_ poppy fields though, given that some trigger-happy _twat_ wandered through with a flamethrower and absolutely no understanding of their economic value."

"I'm not apologising for that," Ajay says. "I get that you make a tonne of money off this shit, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't. Just so you know."

He's proud of those names with red lines through the middle; he worked damn hard to get them that way. Endured Amita's anger, hid from guards and dogs, almost set himself on fire an embarrassing number of times. It was worth it. And the thing is, it's not like Pagan even wants him to be sorry; nothing Ajay does seems to make him angry. He's said several times that nothing _could_.

"Drugs are bad, is that it?" Pagan asks.

"I think people would rather use their farms for _farming_. From what I've seen, they're running low on food." Once he gets started, it's easy to keep going. The words spill out with all the force of the pain he's seen in Kyrat. The fear, the helplessness, the beggars in the hills. "Your taxes are too high. You want them growing drugs instead of stuff they can eat. And you keep _saying_ they can come to you if they have problems, but anyone who tries just gets shot, or their families get sold, or...it's all a mess. You have to do something."

"Fine."

"...What?"

Pagan reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a lighter. Gold; Ajay doesn't doubt for a second that it's real. Funny, how quickly things like that stopped surprising him. The flame it produces is paler, seems like a cheap imitation.

He picks up the page with the place names and holds it up to the lighter. It catches in seconds.

"Fine," Pagan repeats, waving the paper gently. "You don't like the drug fields? I'll burn them for you. Oh, not all at once; I'm generous, not stupid. Cut off Kyrat's main source of income without investment in other areas, and everyone's fucked. You can't run a country off goat shit and millet exports."

Ajay swallows, trying to find words. Flecks of burnt paper drift in the air, like ash over immolated opium poppies. "You'll actually do it? Why?"

"Why not?" Pagan watches the flames creep closer and closer to his fingers. He drops what's left of the page with an inch left to burn, dusting his hands off. "It's what you want."

"Why not do it before now?"

"I've become somewhat...distant from the running of this country, in recent years," Pagan says. "A little bit isolated. Noore, Paul, Yuma, they all seemed to function just fine with the hands-off approach, and I never really gave a damn for nitty-gritty details. Spent most of my time making my own amusements at the palace; parties, drugs, whores, bathtubs of money- which, by the way, while truly excellent in theory, are a frightful disappointment when put into practice."

"You couldn't be fucked changing anything," Ajay translates. He folds his arms, bites down on disappointment. "People are dying out there. And you know, some of them still believe in you? They figure you'll get them out of this mess, any day now. That's actually something they believe."

"So I'm told." Pagan inspects his fingertips, rubbing them together to remove some invisible speck of ash. "Why do you think I brought you here, Ajay? Honestly."

"I don't know," Ajay says flatly. "I was kinda hoping you'd tell me."

Pagan looks at him. Looks, with his head tilted, bleach-blond hair falling over one eye. Looks until Ajay's squirming like a scolded child, his eyes fixed on the wall next to Pagan's ear. He's never been all that great with pressure. Never met a staring contest he couldn't lose.

"I brought you here," Pagan says, his voice soft, "To give you a chance. You've seen this country; seen more of it than I ever did, most likely, and met far more of its people - and really, what is _with_ you and running errands all over the damn place? Skinning rare white tigers and harvesting yak balls for villagers? Well, whatever gets you off, I suppose."

"Not yak balls, for starters," Ajay says. "I thought I was looking for Kyrati _oysters_."

"Up in the Himalayas? Dear boy, someone needs to teach you a thing or two about basic geography."

"Yeah, yeah."

"But I've gone off topic once again." Pagan gestures to the map, the little red-ringed markers for his drug fields. "I've lost touch; there, I admit it. I have no fucking clue whatsoever what people in this country want, and apparently it shows. So here it is. Your chance. You tell me drugs aren't wanted here? You want me to tear out the poppies and plant crops instead? Fine. But you'd do well to remember what I said about choice and consequence - we're going to need another source of income."

Ajay rubs at the back of his neck, eyes on the map. And yeah, he's not stupid. He can see the point Pagan's making, and knows with equal clarity that there's no safety net here. Pagan will sit back and do exactly as he says. Sit back and let him fuck up, run this country into poverty and starvation, and not lift a hand to help. He's done it before. He'll do it again, and put it on Ajay's conscience this time.

 _I don't know what I'm doing_ , he thinks, a little desperately.

A hand on his forearm, squeezing gently. "It's alright, Ajay," Pagan tells him. He leaves his hand where it rests, where its weight feels equal parts reassurance and clemency. _You fucked up, didn't you, boy? That's fine. As long as you're aware of it._ "I won't leave you floundering. We'll start by reopening the country to foreign interests, how's that? Establish a tourist market - the Nepalese won't like it, but they're more than welcome to go fuck themselves. And the UN might lend a hand with our food shortages if we ask nicely. They're wonderfully gullible like that."

"Thanks," Ajay says, humiliated. Pagan squeezes his arm once more and then pulls away.

"Not so easy, is it?" he says. "It never is, at the start. But you'll learn. And I suppose I can stick around a little longer to teach you."

*

The next gift, surprisingly enough, is a book. It appears on Ajay's bed one evening, clashing with the gold-embroidered red silk comforter. He picks it up, opens it and sneezes; the pages are musty, flimsy between his fingers. A flash of colour catches his eye.

He finds Pagan an hour later, supervising a delivery out in the courtyard. Not his normal evening occupation, but he does this sometimes. Gets bored and starts micromanaging; in the gardens, the kitchens, the royal propaganda office. He gets away with it because everyone's too scared to tell him to fuck off and let them do their jobs.

"What's this?" Ajay asks, moving to stand next to Pagan. He shuffles the book to his other side so he can lift a hand, shade his eyes against the glare of the floodlights. Giant crates, looks like. And judging by the care with which they're being unloaded, whatever's inside them is breakable.

"Bears," Pagan says, eyes fixed to the spectacle. He raises his voice without the slightest change in expression. "What the bloody hell do you lot think you're doing? It's not _marshmallows_ in there, you can't just fling them around like they'll bounce! I mean honestly, it's just common sense, they've all got little 'fragile' stickers on them and everything!"

"I have...no idea if you're being serious," Ajay says. "But honestly, I was referring to this." He holds the book up.

"Oh good, you saw it," Pagan takes it from him gently. He runs his fingers across the blank leather cover, his expression soft. "Remember this?"

"I can't read any of it," Ajay admits. "But the pictures are _amazing_. Some kind of legend anthology, maybe? Pretty sure I recognised Kyra, and Banashur. Yalung. What is it?"

"Hard to say. I suppose you could call it a sort of Tarun Matara textbook, though heavens help us if Ishwari heard me say that. This was hers, of course. She used to read to you from it every night; not too sure how much of it sunk in, but you loved the pictures even then. The ones of Kalinag and his tiger were your favourites." Pagan flicks through the pages with uncustomary care, pausing at a few of the brighter pictures. Banashur at the creation of the world. Kyra standing by a river of blood.

He stops at an image of an archer, his skin painted in swathes of orange, cream and blue. Next to him stands a white tiger; the landscape behind them is blurred, indistinct. Sunset colours and the shapes of distant bells.

"No?" Pagan asks. "Doesn't jog your memory at all? You must have stared at it for hours as a child."

"I don't remember." Ajay runs his fingertip over the shape of the tiger, its golden crown and collar. "Pretty sure it's still my favourite though. Thank you."

"Oh, I was only giving you what was already yours. Ishwari never meant for that book to sit around in an attic; it must have broken her heart to leave this behind when she ran. They gave it to her when she was made Tarun Matara, and she was adamant against letting me burn it, however many times I asked." Pagan hands the book back, a little wistfully. "She always said that everything sacred in this country could be found inside that book. Constantly trying to interest me in the contents. But honestly, Wealth and Power are the only altars I've ever felt a need to worship at."

"I don't really believe in any religion," Ajay says. He feels a little guilty admitting it with the book in his hands. _One more thing you never told me about, Mom. How did you do it? How did you just shut out so much of yourself, like it never meant anything at all?_

"And fair enough too," Pagan says. "But the important thing is that you have the opportunity to decide for yourself. So, there's Ishwari's book, her little manual of all things sacred. What you do with it is up to you. Keep it, burn it, tear out the pages and fold little origami honey badgers, I don't fucking care. That's _your_ responsibility now."

"Yeah, it is." Ajay hefts the book, pushes down the urge to cradle it to his chest like a child. "Thank you. I mean it, this is...like a link to a part of me I didn't know about. A part of Mom. There's so much she never..." he chokes up a little and turns away, coughing. "Thank you."

"Go to bed, darling boy." Pagan tells him gently. He reaches out, ruffles Ajay's hair. Takes him by the shoulder and turns him back towards the palace. "It's getting late. Your book will be there in the morning - and so will I, if you have any questions. Go on."

"Night," Ajay says. He's seized by a sudden, mad impulse to lean in and kiss Pagan's cheek. The urge passes almost immediately, but its shape stays behind in his head, like an afterimage burnt into his retinas. "Don't stay up too late with your bears." He leaves without waiting for a reply. And maybe he doesn't quite run, but there's nothing leisurely about his retreat.

The book gets placed on his bedside table, where he can see it if he lies on his side. It's the last thing he remembers before falling asleep. It's the first thing he sees when he wakes.

*

The fifth gift is...unexpected, if only because it's something Ajay's accustomed to being denied. The things he did for the Golden Path, the demands they made, the expectations they had, all laid on Ajay's shoulders like a burden he should be accustomed to. Obedience: his heritage, it seemed. Even coming to Kyrat in the first place was a wish placed on him by someone else.

The fifth gift is a choice.

It's as simple as it seems.

"I have something for you," Pagan tells him over lunch. Sushi today; California rolls, avocado-mango combinations, something that looks like beef but probably isn't, and if Ajay's learnt anything in his time at the palace it's the wisdom of eating what's put in front of him and saving the questions ( _what the fuck is this, seriously_ ) for later.

"Yeah?" Ajay looks up from the mess he's making with his chopsticks. "Is it an apology for the pink skinny jeans? Because I don't care how many times your tailor tells me they're 'cutting edge fashion', I'm not wearing them."

"I should never have accepted Mumu Chiffon's resignation," Pagan agrees. "When I look at the brainless waste of space I'm saddled with instead-"

"Oh sure, he _resigned._ You didn't threaten to have him killed or anything."

"A mistake, I admit it! I'm not above that kind of thing, whatever you may have heard. Do you think he'd come back if I sent him a conciliatory fruit basket? No, I suppose it's gone beyond the healing powers of exotic fruit by now. Perhaps a basket of gemstones. He'd appreciate that. He's like a fucking magpie when it comes to shiny things."

Ajay gives up on the sushi. It's never been his thing, and starvation isn't much of a risk in the palace; if he's hungry later, he'll go raid the kitchens. Plural. Someone's taken to stocking an entire pantry with imports from home: Pop Tarts, Cheetos, Doritos, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Little things that make his new life feel a little more welcoming. He appreciates that. It more than makes up for the occasional weird meal, courtesy of Pagan's unpredictable sense of humour.

"So you're not apologising for the skinny jeans, and you're not promising it won't happen again," he says, pushing his plate aside. A servant appears at his elbow (they used to move in silence, like _smoke_ , until he freaked a little and shoved a silver knife through some poor bastard's thigh. These days they know to let him hear a few footsteps). The mess is removed.

"I like to think you'll grow a bit of goddamn taste, if you spend long enough in my company," Pagan agrees pleasantly, waving the rest of the food away. "Sadly, that's something you'll have to learn on your own, though believe me, if I could wrap some up and gift it to you, I would."

"Sucks that you can't do that, huh."

"It _does_ , doesn't it. Ah yes, thank you." Pagan accepts the box another servant brings him, on a solid gold tray, no less. Places it on the table in front of him. Rests his hands on it, fingers spread. "I can, however, offer you something else."

Ajay eyes the box with mock wariness. That size, it could be a whole lot of things. Sunglasses, a designer watch. Or, on the other end of the crazy scale, scorpions. Giant spiders. Snakes.

"Does it bite?" he asks, and Pagan smiles. It's...not the happiest expression. Not the gleeful, wild grin he gets when someone hands him a loaded gun. Not like that.

"It might do," he says. His fingers move over the wooden lid, before he yanks them back. Shoves the box towards Ajay like it burns him to touch. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Well, go on, don't keep me waiting. I'm not bloody getting any younger here."

Pagan's easiest to deal with when he gets what he wants. And it's not like any of his surprises so far have been lethal; maybe it's a stupid risk to take, but Ajay's ready to bet at least a few fingers that the contents aren't _too_ explosive.

He opens the box.

And yeah. It bites. Just not the way he was expecting.

"What is this?" But he doesn't need to ask, not really, because his eyes work as well as they always have, and it's not like he can't recognise his own passport. Blue cover, blank-faced, 'wanted criminal' photo, same as everyone's. And the plane ticket tucked inside for a flight dated one week from now. New Delhi to JFK, departs at 1:45am and doesn't come back.

"You're getting rid of me?" he asks numbly. The ticket doesn't become any less real, though he lifts it up and holds it to the light and wishes with everything he has that it would spontaneously combust. "Are you...serious? You're sending me away?"

"In first class, no less," Pagan agrees. He reaches for his cup of tea, brings it up to his mouth and then pauses. Puts it back down again. "That's a one way ticket back to America for you, boy; I know you miss the place. And why shouldn't you? It's your home. The only place you remember. You were far too young to form any lasting attachment to this country, and Ishwari made quite the effort to hide your past from you. Why should you stay?"

And here's the thing: it's a good question. _Why?_ When the Golden Path used him, lied to him until he'd done all their dirty work and then treated him like an intrusion, a guest who'd overstayed his welcome. Life he should up and leave; no place for him in the shiny new country he helped rescue.

 _I did what I came here for,_ he thinks, but it makes no fucking difference. He's here for a whole other set of reasons these days.

"You don't want me?" Ajay says. Hates how young it makes him sound. How weak.

Pagan shakes his head, tutting gently. "Oh no, dear boy. No. What _I_ want doesn't make any fucking difference here; that's the point. This is about you. About your future. You've missed something, by the way. Try the envelope."

It's sitting in the bottom of the box. Ajay picks it up; his fingers shake. He lets them.

"Please don't do this," he says. " _Please_. I'm- If I did something wrong, if I upset you, I'm sorry, just let me-"

"Open it," Pagan tells him.

The envelope is thicker than it seemed at first; unsealed, and when Ajay upends it over the table, two things fall out. One is a letter. The other is a passport.

 _Kyrat_ , the gold-embossed cover reads. And inside is his face, his name, his date of birth. The issue date was two days ago; it doesn't expire for the usual ten years. And under "nationality" it says, _Kyrati_.

The letter is his official confirmation of Kyrati citizenship, signed by King Min himself.

"What's going on?" Ajay stares at the letter, runs his fingertip over the official wax seal at the bottom of the page. "Is this...some kind of game? A joke? Because it's _not fucking funny_ , and I need you to explain it to me. Are you- do you want me to leave, or not?"

"I want you to choose."

Ajay looks up to find Pagan watching him, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. The smile is gone, and he holds himself stiff in his chair, too upright for comfort. Like he's braced for impact. For an attack.

"You were sent here, to me," Pagan says quietly. "Your mother's last request, which you _had_ to honour, being the upstanding young man that you are. And then, of course, you fell in with the Golden Path. I'll grant Sabal one thing: he's very good at what he does, and what he does is manipulate. If I could work out a way to make him see past that disturbing obsession he has with your father, I'd hire him on the spot - he's that good. And he got to you, didn't he?"

There's no judgement in the question. They've been through this before, on several occasions and in varying states of sobriety. There's no _grudge_ here.

"I thought I was helping," Ajay says, and Pagan nods.

"Of course you did. That's what you _do_. Heal people with the power of love, strategically placed C4, and your own bleeding heart. There's no limit to what you'd do to _help_. That's why you end up at everyone's beck and call all the fucking time, boy. It's disgraceful. And I won't have it here, which is why..." He gestures at the documents, the letter and the place ticket, the two passports.

"I'll admit, I don't know you very well," Pagan says. "Not half as well as I'd like to, take that as you will. But from what I've seen, you're very rarely given the luxury of making your own damn choices. And that has to change. Starting...right now, actually."

"So you're saying America or Kyrat?" Ajay flips open the Kyrati passport again, staring down at his photo. "Should I stay, or should I go?"

"Up to you."

"Apparently."

Pagan sighs, runs a hand through his hair (a practiced gesture: expresses frustration, doesn't mess up the style. Looks great when he does it). "What do you want from your future, Ajay? America? A nice, cushy corporate job? Hot wife, couple of kids, your own private yacht? Because if that's the case, I have contacts; I'll set you up. It's not a loan, and I won't come calling for repayment, though the occasional Christmas card would be lovely. Still, if you wanted to cut off contact entirely, I'd understand. And I'd still fund whatever shining future you set your heart on."

Ajay's shaking his head before Pagan can finish. "Uh, how about, _no_?"

"Well," Pagan says, and he doesn't quite smile, but some of the steel melts from his expression. "If that wasn't to your liking, you could always stay here. Learn to rule the country, sort its shit out. Drag it into the twenty-first century, kicking and screaming for Kyra to save it from the empowered women and scary technology."

"And you're cool with that? You're not kicking me out." But he's not, and now the rules are clear, Ajay's got his sights set on winning this little game. He tears up the plane ticket. Shoves the scraps into the wooden box along with his American passport; slams the lid.

"We should find some explosives and blow this sky high," he says, and Pagan smiles.

"So you're staying then?" he asks mildly.

"Yeah," Ajay says. Like it was ever in question. "Yeah, if you'll have me. I want to stay here."

Pagan stands slowly; brushes imaginary crumbs from his suit jacket, straightens his cuffs. "Well, thank _fuck_ for that," he says. "I was trying not to dwell on the alternative, but life's a bitch sometimes and it's usually when you're least able to deal with her bullshit. Come on, then." He beckons. Ajay gets up to follow him. "I'm really feeling a bonfire right now. Something with a bit of _oomph_. Could toss in a few of my captured rebels, just to warm things up. Toast a few marshmallows, sing Kumbaya. Lovely."

He puts an arm around Ajay's shoulders and leads him from the room. Ajay goes willingly, wooden box in hand. Leaves his new passport on the table where it'll be found and tactfully moved to his bedroom by the servants who have learnt not to tiptoe around him. He's made his choice. No regrets.

At some point he shifts the box to his left hand, sliding his free arm around Pagan's waist. Keeps it there when he's not told to remove it.

*

Ajay spends a good few minutes in denial about the sixth gift, if only because surely nobody in their right mind would do something so fucking _stupid_.

"This is a joke, right?" he says, a little weakly. Clutches at the door frame and considers just turning around and leaving. Letting someone else deal with it. "No way he actually thought I'd want this."

" _Grrrmrrrowl_ ," says the hot pink bear curled up on his comforter. " _Mrrrmph_."

"No, hey, it's okay. I'm not blaming you, this is totally not your fault."

The bear gives a jaw-breaking yawn - and miracle of miracles, its teeth are still a nice, natural yellowish white. Seems like its mouth was the only thing to escape the dye job some poor son of a bitch was talked into giving it. King's orders, no doubt. The animal moves sluggishly, its eyes dull. That explains the lack of damage in his bedroom. Though how they managed to get it through the door is another story.

"You're looking pretty comfortable there. That's cool. I won't be needing to sleep in that bed for an hour or so. You get some shut-eye, and I'm gonna go strangle the life out of Pagan. _Please_ don't be here when I come back."

He finds Pagan in the palace library, jacket tossed aside, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. This is unexpected; Ajay wasn't aware Pagan even knew he _had_ a library. But here he is sprawled across the couch, shoes on the upholstery. Books spread out across the little coffee table in front of him.

There's a fine white mist floating in the air around him. Ajay sneezes.

_Oh. Riiiiight._

Pagan in the library is unexpected. Pagan in the library, coked out of his mind...not so much.

"Party of one, huh." Ajay nudges Pagan's feet out of the way, settling down on the couch next to him. "You mind telling me what the special occasion is?"

Pagan gives him a wave. "Ajay! The man of the hour. How _are_ you? Yes, yes, make yourself comfortable, don't mind me. Can I offer you a line or two? No? That's a shame, it's some high quality shit."

"I'm sorry, 'man of the hour'? Hell no, you are _not_ putting your drug habits on me." He makes a grab for the topmost book before Pagan can, gently moving it out of the way. Not so carefully messing up the meticulous line of white powder sitting on top of it.

Pagan watches him mournfully. Shakes his head, mutters something about a "fucking disappointment" that Ajay tunes out. But he doesn't protest when Ajay tugs him into an upright position, straightens his shirt and tidies his hair. Just lets himself be pushed around. Stares at Ajay with too-bright eyes and a secretive smile that goes from worrying to annoying in the space of three seconds.

"There's a bear in my bedroom," Ajay tells him, dusting fine white mist off his shoulders and holding in another sneeze. "And before you make any jokes, I mean an _animal_."

"Do you like it? I brought it in especially for you, Ajay. Since you're planning on staying, it seemed only fair that you have a pet or three."

" _Three?_ "

A shrug. "It was three originally," Pagan says, "But we had to put the other two down after they mauled the guards trying to dye them. Fucking selfish, I mean, there I was, just trying to make sure you had the _best_. I wanted to give you something special, something fucking _unforgettable_ , but they just wouldn't cooperate!"

"You give bears to all your new Kyrati citizens?" Ajay asks wryly. "That's considerate. Come on, it's stuffy in here and you're definitely done for the evening."

"Oh, if you insist. Anything for you."

"Start by standing up, and we'll go from there."

"I really am... _so_ very happy you're staying, my darling boy," Pagan tells him, obeying. Ajay slings one of the man's arms around his shoulders and grunts something neutral in response. "I know, I know, I've said it before. But I am, I'm so _fucking_ overjoyed that you like it here, and you don't want to leave. It's like all my birthday presents rolled into one. One giant, gorgeous birthday present - which isn't a comment on your weight, mind you. You're quite beautiful as you are. Never change. You won't, will you?"

He gets as far as the hallway outside the library before he starts trying to wander off in the wrong direction. Left; towards the kitchens, the dungeons, the outdoor swimming pool. _Not_ towards his rooms.

"Bedroom's this way," Ajay says, tugging him firmly back on track. "Come on, you're doing great. Almost there."

Pagan dissolves into something not dissimilar to a giggle; he buries it in Ajay's shoulder. "Oh, I could get used to hearing you say that. 'Bedroom's that way', my goodness. Are you trying to seduce me, Ajay?"

"You're _literally_ out of your mind right now."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Pagan agrees. "Not the sort to take advantage. That's the problem with you, boy, you're much too soft-hearted. We're going to have to work on toughening you up; you'll make a pretty shit warlord the way you are now. You're just too... _good_. It's sickening."

"If that pink bear in my bedroom isn't gone by tomorrow, I'll show you exactly how soft-hearted I am." Ajay fumbles with the door, balancing Pagan's weight, the way he leans in close like there's a blizzard outside and Ajay's his fire.

"That's your secret, is it? You're always angry?"

"Honestly, I'm more of a 'place between rage and serenity' kind of guy."

"Disgraceful," Pagan says as Ajay levers him through the doorway and guides him to the bed. "You have _lean green killing machine_ written all over you. Or...something. Do you know, I suspect the comparison might have gotten away from me a little bit there. Where the bloody hell is my script writer? I want him killed, Ajay, you hear me? Get Paul onto it right away."

"Pretty sure Paul's still locked up in a Golden Path cage somewhere," Ajay says. He lowers Pagan to the edge of the bed, a hell of a lot more gently than he deserves. "Last I heard, they were charging people a few rupees to come throw stuff at him. Making a fair bit of cash, too."

"How very fucking entrepreneurial of them," Pagan annunciates. "But it can't continue, I need him back. Have a word with your friend Sabal, will you? Do a spot of negotiating. I'm not bloody torturing my own prisoners, I'd ruin my manicure."

"You're such an asshole," Ajay says, but he ruins it by laughing. Kneels at Pagan's feet, reaching for the laces on the closest shoe. Italian leather today; crocodile skin yesterday. God knows what surprises tomorrow will bring.

Life's never boring with Pagan around.

"You don't have to do that," says the man himself; Ajay ignores him, as he deserves. Ignores the other protests that follow, the weak push at his shoulder. "Lift your foot," he murmurs, and then, "Okay, now the other one. Thanks."

When he looks up, Pagan is watching him. Mouth tight, eyes bitter. Looks like the coke's wearing off.

"What?" Ajay asks tiredly. It's late; early, by this stage. His shoulders ache, his head's all fuzzy, there's a pink bear asleep in his bedroom. Might as well just pass out on one of the couches in Pagan's rooms and hope for a few hours of peace.

"You," Pagan tells him. "That's what."

"If we're about to get existential, I have to warn you that I'm five minutes away from falling asleep on your carpet."

"I don't deserve you," Pagan says. He lets Ajay push him down onto the pillows (nobody in their right mind needs that many pillows, but then Pagan's bed is big enough for...a bear. Three bears, even). Ajay drags the comforter up to cover him, and then fetches a tiger skin rug from one of the couches. He'll be fine. Might wake up late, and grumpy, but he'll be fine. This isn't the first time. It won't be the last.

"Uh-huh," Ajay says absently, tugging the tiger skin a bit higher. "You warm enough? Technically it's still winter here, you don't want to wake up shivering. Hold up, I'll get you that other rug."

"You're too good for this place," Pagan tells him, shifting restlessly under the covers. "Too good for this entire, stinking shitheap of a country. Certainly too good for _me_. I should be tranquilising you and tossing you onto a plane back to America via New Delhi airport. I can do that, you know. Comes with the whole "King" deal."

"Sure does."

"Are you even listening to me? Honestly, the manners on young people these days are _fucking_ appalling."

"Says the warlord coke addict," Ajay says mildly, adding the extra rug to the pile. Snow leopard; that would have shocked him back home. Now it's nothing special. One more rug among hundreds. He's hunted plenty of big cats in his time here. "Just...go to sleep, okay? I'll get one of the guards to check on you, make sure you don't have a heart attack or whatever. You going to be okay?"

The look Pagan gives him is...hard to work out. Sad, thoughtful, considering. Part cocaine, part hope, part past trauma. He gets it sometimes. Like he doesn't know who he's looking at. Like he's looking closely, in case Ajay turns out not to be real. Like he might vanish if Pagan looks away.

He gets like that and Ajay starts to feel the distance between them. Feels antsy, inadequate. The only cure he's found that works is waiting it out, and that...fucking sucks. He should be able to fix this. Should be whatever Pagan needs, and he's not. How can he fix a wound that he's not allowed to even see?

"I could stay," Ajay says. Runs his hands over the leopard skin, carefully, like he's petting the animal itself. "If you need me to. It's not too much trouble, I don't want you freaking out or anything."

"That's a terrible idea, boy," Pagan tells him. Firm, but fair. The voice of a king. "However much I- _no_. Come back when I'm feeling a little more like my usual self. We'll shoot some guns, shoot some people, ooh, did I show you my new helicopter? I didn't, did I? It's lovely, we can take it out for a spin tomorrow. "

"Suit yourself."

Ajay strokes the leopard skin one last time; Pagan tries to swat him away. And Ajay's not sure what pushes him to do it, what wild urge decided this might be a good idea (later he'll blame the mist in the library, the trace amounts of cocaine he no doubt inhaled) but he catches Pagan's hand easily. Brings it to his mouth before he can stop himself. Kisses the other man's knuckles.

"Night," he says quietly. Pagan doesn't reply.

Ajay creeps back to his bedroom, something nameless clinging close and heavy to his shoulderblades. Might be guilt. Might be anticipation. Hard to tell. He doesn't waste too much time on the mystery, and when he gets to his rooms he finds them empty. There are baby pink hairs clinging to his comforter; the only sign that the whole thing wasn't some drugged up fever dream.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. _What the hell am I doing? We deserve better than this._

He'll sleep on it, sure, like Mom always said he should do for tough choices. But it doesn't matter. He's made his decision. When he wakes, the world won't look any different.

And he'll still feel the same.

*

The last gift (last in the way of a book's last chapter, where the world keeps turning but the story is, for the moment, at a pause) comes from Ajay. He's not aware of giving it; not that it matters. If he'd known, he wouldn't have changed a thing.

"You give me hope, Ajay," Pagan tells him. "I look at you, your...enthusiasm, your fucking _limitless_ capacity for believing the best of people, and I think to myself...well, maybe we're not quite as screwed as I'd resigned myself to. It's an uncomfortable shift in perspective, I'm not at all sure I like it."

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Ajay says, taking a couple of cocktail glasses from the outstretched tray of a servant whose name he heard once and completely forgot. By now it's too awkward to ask again, so he just settles for a smile. "Thank you."

Pagan accepts the glass Ajay offers him and settles his elbows back on the balcony rail.

"I'm aware of that. If anything, that's the worst part. If you could stop being so damn forgiving for five seconds, maybe I wouldn't feel as if there was something worth staying for. I've done my bit for this country; I'm owed a peaceful retirement."

"You're too young to retire."

"Don't sass me, boy, I'm far too sober for it."

"Whatever."

They sip their drinks and stare out at the mountains. At the clouds and the sunset, gold like candles in Kyra's shrines. Gold like statues, like the painted coils and whorls on Mani wheels. It's always like this. He'll spend the rest of his life watching sunsets like this one.

"I think I get it," Ajay says, nodding at the view. "Why you stayed here. It's amazing."

Pagan snorts, downing half his cocktail with an elegant flick of his wrist. "Don't romanticise it, boy. I came for the cold, hard cash. The climate's perfect for poppies and the citizens are just desperate enough to keep their damn heads down and do as they're told. For the most part. It was an aspiring warlord's paradise, and I exploited it for every rupee I could."

"Well _I'm_ staying for the views."

"Of course you are, darling boy," Pagan says wryly. "You're the only person in the world who could get away with saying something so fucking trite- and meaning it."

"I'm staying for you as well," Ajay says. He keeps his eyes on the horizon, where the white mountain peaks split and separate it. "That's kind of the main reason. You know?"

"I know." Ajay glances over, finds Pagan staring into his empty glass. Morose; thoughtful. Like he's looking for answers to a question he can't see. After a moment, he shakes his head and tosses the glass off the balcony. If it shatters below, it doesn't make a sound. Someone else will pick up the pieces later. That's how things seem to work around here.

"That's it?"

Out in the forests, something howls. Pagan's features twist, settle into lines of exhaustion, carved as deep and old as the valleys. "What did you expect?" he asks. Spreads his hands: _what do you want from me?_ "We're not all arrogant young men who give no fucks about _context_ or _history,_ and think the world should bend over the nearest flat surface to give them what they want. We're not all _bulletproof_."

"If you're not interested, you could always just-"

"I bounced you on my knee," Pagan interrupts. His mouth twists, sharp and unhappy. "Taught you my name, fed you soup when your mother needed a bit of well-earnt rest. I'd have read to you at bedtime too, only Ishwari, in her wisdom, decided my stories might not be all that suitable for a two year old. The point I'm trying to make here, which you keep steadfastly ignoring, is that this isn't fucking _simple_. I loved your mother. Twenty-odd years ago, I'd have married her in a second, right up until she left-"

"Yeah. She _left_ ," Ajay says. He balances his glass on the balcony railing, just out of elbow reach. Doesn't bother to pretend it's not an excuse; a chance to turn away and take a breath. To line up his attack. "And I don't know if you noticed, but the world didn't end. Life didn't stop. It still hasn't. And there's no reason you can't have a future here, something that makes you happy."

"A bit late for that, I fancy."

"Bullshit. So maybe it wouldn't be easy; I'm not _ignoring_ the past, or what Mom meant to you. She'll always be there, and I'm okay with that. But I am _telling_ you that what happened back then doesn't have to be everything. You're allowed to move on. It's not easy, and I get that- but maybe it's worth trying."

"Big words," Pagan says, and Ajay fights down the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "From a boy almost half my age."

"Oh, like you care about the age gap."

"That's true," Pagan agrees mildly. "I don't. If that was the only issue, we wouldn't need to discuss it at all. But you're asking for a lot more than a quick, guilty fuck in the king's bed. You'd never settle for something so simple."

"You're in love with me," Ajay says, challenges. Throws the words in his face like dust, like sand in Shanath Arena. And like a blinded tiger, Pagan flinches back.

"That's irrelevant."

"Sure, if it was one-sided. But it's not. You _know_ that. So why are we still pretending this isn't a thing that exists, like it'll go away if we ignore it? Because it won't." He takes a step closer. And now, more than ever, he regrets the inch of height difference between them, the one damn inch that Pagan can make feel like a mile when he wants. It's a cheap trick. He can make Ajay feel small, distant, _young_ , just by looking down at him.

"I've broken so many things," Pagan says quietly. He reaches for Ajay's collar, tugging it straight where it's slipping. Lets his fingers linger on the embroidered silk. "Every goddamn thing I touch, it feels like. You could fertilise half the country with the bodies I've left in my wake. Enemies, rivals, friends, family. I sometimes wonder if I'm being punished for that. Maybe this is how things should be." His fingers drift from Ajay's shirt to his chin; his thumb rubs over the stubble there. "Maybe I'd rather keep them that way, than risk breaking _you_."

"I don't break easy." Ajay feels the fingers tighten on his chin.

"No." Pagan's smile is small, slow; barely a twitch of his lips, but it's all Ajay can do to keep himself from kissing it. "No, you don't, beautiful boy. And that may be what saves us all, in the end."

"Pretty tall order, saving everyone," Ajay says. "How about I start with one person and work my way up?"

The last gift is hope. Hope for a country where blood flows like the waterfalls; where wolves and gunshots split the silent air at night. It's a new life, new friends, and pink bears in his bedroom when things get too quiet. A future, for people who thought for too long that they'd missed their one and only chance.

It's a kiss at sunset, with the distant mountains watching, painted shades of snow and fading sunlight. Watching something not unlike the birth of a star, a galaxy. Something new and bright and beautiful; if nothing else, they'll go the way of supernovas when they burn each other out. If they do. Nothing's really certain anymore.

"Smile, beautiful boy," Pagan says, inches from Ajay's lips. "Let's make this something to remember, hm?"

"Way ahead of you," Ajay says, and brings their mouths back together.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Spacehussy and her apparently limitless imagination.
> 
> Now with _adorable_ [art from Djkaeru!](http://djkaeru.tumblr.com/post/113177376705/comic-base-on-a-scene-from-youreusingcoconutss)Thank you so much, that's the cutest thing ever!


End file.
